“Are you insinuating that I’m getting old?”
She giggled, swats at my chest. “Of course, not. We both know you can still lay the pipe like nobody’s business.”
“Lay the pipe?” I choke out, laughing. “Seriously?”
Again, she giggles and I shake my head. “Don’t you worry, my wife. I’ll be laying pipe until you beg me for mercy.”
Now she throws her head back and laughs loudly. I soak it in, watching her smile, the sound of her joy enveloping me in a calm I never knew existed before I met her.
Her hand on my arm tugs and I follow her down, placing myself on my side between her and the back of the sofa. She squirms around in my embrace, and I give her a moment to get comfortable before tightening my arms around her, pulling her snug against my front.
She immediately rubs her ass on my dick. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Logan-Rafferty.”
“Maybe,” she responds, already a bit breathless.
“If we’re done with babies then we’re going to have to start actively preventing them.”
“I can get my tube tied,” she responds, pressing her ass back against me with greater intent. “May as well make it permanent.”
I freeze, my hands on her stomach, my face in her hair. “Like as in a surgery?”
“Yeah.” She nods, her hands moving to mine, sliding them up her front to her breasts as I say, “For you?”
“Oh my God, Ren,” she huffs, her hands dropping away from mine. “Yes, a tubal ligation is a surgery for the person who has at least one fallopian tube. That would eliminate you.”
“Absolutely not,” I respond with maybe a bit more feeling than is necessary. “No elective surgeries for you. My poor heart can’t take it.”
Slowly, she turns to face me. She slides her hands up my chest, fingers playing in the hair at the nape of my neck. Her smile is warm, her eyes twinkling as she responds, “It’s no big deal. I can handle it.”
I scowl, shake my head. “I know you can handle it, but you don’t have to and you won’t. I’ll get a vasectomy and that will be that.”
“But what if you want to?—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I grit out, knowing she’s yanking my chain, but still not wanting her to say it.
“Or what…” her words trail off, more a statement than a question, and her low laugh is husky, taunting.
Without warning, I use my bent knees to push her forward, rolling off the sofa, watching my weight with an extended hand as I hold her against me. She lands facedown, her arms pinned beneath her, and I lean into her, my face right by ear as I murmur, “I feel like we’ve been here before.”
She struggles slightly, but I can tell from her gasp that she’s not interested in getting away. And then she laughs humorlessly and says, “How about you show me something you haven’t shown me before.”
Without comment, I come up on my knees, wrapping my arms around her middle, so when I move to stand, she’ll come with me.
She yelps, her hands gripping my forearm as she swings slightly, and she flails, getting her feet on the ground. I loop my arm through her bent elbows behind her back, grip one firmly in my hand so she can’t break-free. She struggles halfheartedly, likely because she’s curious to see what I’ll do.
I maneuver her to the giant windows where the drapes are half-closed. Grabbing the control from the nightstand, I open them fully, then turn off the lights, so the lights from the city illuminate the room.
“Have you seen this before?”
“Well, sure,” she responds, breathless. “I’ve seen the city at night countless times.”
Releasing her arms, I yank her back against me then step right into the window, my free hand moving to the tie on her robe. I give it a pull, watching as her robe opens, revealing her nude body beneath.
“Look closely,” I whisper. “Tell me what you see.”
A glance at her face shows her frown, and she attempts to move her hands in front of her, but I block her as I continue, “You know what I see?”
She shrugs and shakes her head, but says nothing, so I reply, “I see the most beautiful woman in the world, the giver of love and life, the perfect match to my soul.”
